


Sorrow for the Lost Lenore

by SkepticalBeliever



Series: Balm in Gilead [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-07 00:07:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6775882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkepticalBeliever/pseuds/SkepticalBeliever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke was the first of his little, broken family to stir. Silently, he watched her scramble with her pockets, fishing out the case that served as the damned chip’s coffin. The reverence with which she cradled the thing sent ice coursing through his veins, but when she twisted around, her eyes searching for him, he schooled his features as best he could, offering her a curt nod and an approximation of a smile.</p>
<p>--</p>
<p>Nominated for Bellarke Fanfiction 2016 awards for "Most Underrated Drabble."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sorrow for the Lost Lenore

It was the smell of firewood the eventually woke him. Bellamy rolled over onto his side, groaning into the coarse sand and sitting up slowly. The clouds above churned lazily, an oppressive grayscale, contemplating its own potential for violence. He would not blame the clouds if they decided to unleash the tempest; he certainly wanted to. It would be poetic, in a way, to be caught the rain after such a debilitating failure.

He shook his head and gathered his bearings. They had been returned to their campsite on the coast, their signal fire extinguished and the wood drenched by the rain and the omnipresent humidity. He spots Jasper and Octavia and breathes a sigh of relief as he watches their chests slowly rise and fall. Clarke is the closest to him, her fingers outstretched across the sand, as if reaching for something. Her brows are knitted tightly on her forehead, distress pervading even in her drug-induced slumber.

He rose, dusting himself off, and reached for his gun, strewn only a few feet away from him. More than ever, the need to protect his people overwhelmed him. He squared his shoulders and clutched the rifle securely in his hands, his finger poised over the trigger.

He had first watch.

Clarke was the first of his little, broken family to stir. Silently, he watched her scramble with her pockets, fishing out the case that served as the damned chip’s coffin. The reverence with which she cradled the thing sent ice coursing through his veins, but when she twisted around, her eyes searching for him, he schooled his features as best he could, offering her a curt nod and an approximation of a smile.

Slowly the others came to and they made their way back to the rover. While the journey to find Luna had felt like a race against time, tinged with desperation, this trek felt more like a funeral procession, a long, mournful dirge. Jasper and Octavia wordlessly clambered into the back; Octavia slumped against his side and Jasper rested his head atop of hers. Bellamy guessed they were mere seconds away from surrendering again to sleep.

Clarke lingered for just a moment outside the vehicle. She turned her face out in the direction of the sea, obscured by the thick foliage. Her hands dipped again into her pockets and Bellamy knew without asking that she was palming the chip’s case, reassuring herself it was still present. Finally, she joined the others and they sped off into the woods, away from their immense disappointment.

Within the first five minutes of driving, Octavia and Jasper dozed off; their breathing evened out and Bellamy could just barely make out the sound of Jasper lightly snoring over the sound of the wheels snapping the underbrush and the engine’s pervasive hum. Meanwhile, Clarke stared ahead, eyes glazed, expression vacant. More than once, Bellamy considered asking her what was running through her mind. He knew better than to press her, however. She was like him; she would talk about it when she was ready. 

Finally, as the clouds drew dark with nightfall, she broke her silence. “I used to draw Earth—what I thought it would be like—when I was in solitary.” Her voice was rough and low.

Bellamy glanced sideways at her. “Was it everything you thought it would be?” he asked, although he knew the answer.

She shook her head. “Nothing has turned out how I expected it to.” Then, “Do you think it’s possible?”

“Do I think what is possible?” Bellamy asked, narrowly avoiding a felled tree.

“Do you think that it’s possible that someday we’ll be able to do more than just survive? That we could actually get the chance to _live_?”

Bellamy snorted. “At this point, I seriously doubt the world is capable of keeping its shit together long enough for us to take a nap, let alone live a life. Why do you ask?”

“Just thinking about a conversation I once had.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her fingers trace the infinity symbol on the chip. He bit the inside of his cheek. “With Lexa.” She nodded, murmuring her confirmation. Bellamy gripped the steering wheel tighter, bracing himself for a conversation he was certain he would regret. “She was special to you.”

Contrary to popular belief, Bellamy was not an idiot. After Mount Weather, when Octavia and Raven filled him in on what he missed, there was an edge to the way they discussed Clarke and Lexa’s partnership. That they despised the Grounders’ leader for abandoning them was apparent, but there was always something else, as if they were handling a loaded gun and trying not to pull the trigger. After the massacre, when Clarke had come to reason with him, she had used that same tone. _Lexa and I…_ That coupled with her strange, borderline obsessive behavior towards the chip confirmed his suspicions.

“I don’t expect you to understand,” she said, her voice uncharacteristically meek.

“You’re right,” he replied, already exhausted. “I don’t. After all that she put us through, after all she put _you_ through, I don’t really understand how you could feel that way about her. But,” he glanced over at her, eyes soft, “it’s not like we ever get to choose who we love. If we could, I think our lives would all be a lot less complicated.”

Clarke shifted towards Bellamy, brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Bellamy scrubbed a hand down his face; he was not equipped to handle this kind of conversation with Clarke. Not then, maybe not ever. “Take Finn for example,” he said. “If you had a choice in who you loved, would you have allowed yourself to hold onto how you felt about him after you found out about Raven? Or Lincoln and Octavia?” He peeked behind and saw that Octavia and Jasper slept soundly. “They both knew how volatile relations were between our people and the Grounders. Do you think they would have allowed themselves to be close to each other, knowing that it could end in tragedy? Do you think Jasper would carry a torch for Maya for so long if he had a say? Do you think that I would—” he broke off, choking on the words that he has kept buried for so long.

He could feel Clarke’s gaze but he refused to meet it. He pressed his lips in a thin line and forced his attention resolutely on the weatherworn path.

“Bellamy.” She breathed his name, hushed and dangerously close to pitying.

“Anyway,” he said, voice gruff, “my point is that you don’t get to choose who you love. I may not understand _why_ you loved Lexa, but I won’t judge you for it either. Just so you know.”

They lapsed back into silence. His fingers tingled with adrenaline, itching for something more to do than grip the steering wheel tightly. He pressed more firmly down on the acceleration and allowed the sway of the rover to lull him into a seemingly more tranquil mindset. _She must know_ , he thought after a moment. _After everything we’ve been through, she has to know how I feel._

He stiffened when he felt her warm hand rest on his knee. “I’m sorry about Gina,” she murmured. Confusion swept over him and forced him to turn towards her. When he met her eyes, he saw no signs of pity, only compassion, empathy, and something else that he dared not name. “I obviously didn’t know her,” she continued, oblivious, “but she must have been really something if she could convince you to love her.”

“Yeah,” he replied, stunned. “Yeah, she was.”

Clarke offered him a smile, soft and warm, squeezing his knee before retracting her hand again. “She was lucky,” she yawned, curling up against the door.

Bellamy had no idea how to respond to that.

_If I had had a choice in who I loved, I never would have hurt Gina; she might still be alive._ Bellamy stole one last glance at Clarke, whose eyes fluttered close. _But I never had a choice._

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from Edgar Allen Poe's poem "The Raven." Lenore is the name of the narrator's lost love and, in the context of this story, is meant to refer to Lexa and Gina. 
> 
> I'd love to get your feedback, positive and otherwise. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
